They don’t want us to recite our poems, don’t want the people to behold any signs or see any symbols and they d-mn sure don’t want us to know that the ancestors are with us. They don’t want us to recite our poems.

They fear the foreign sounds of our secret language: Hope. They thought it long dead. They are afraid of the spread of our fever how it creeps along the sense—our hearing and seeing, our awakening perception, our ability to sniff out what’s false.

The willingness to feel our most painful wound, the taste of blood on our lips. They don’t want us to recite our poems.

They are afraid of the promise of our spring, the way mother earth blushes green for us, hiding her gift in full view of both the strong and weak alike.

She has shown us fine stones in a babbling brook: love, faith, courage, tenacity, and understanding. They fear the inevitable fall of their rampaging giants.

They don’t want us to recite our poems. They want us to die with our songs unsung. They want to bury our burnt-out husks perfectly preserved shells, with sightless eyes of bitter black smoke and a mouthful of tightly clenched pearl-white teeth, trapping inside, for all eternity, the music that they desperately fear.

I’m writing you today, a lost voice from prison
Lost and confused about this country we live in
And the people that’s in it
How do you claim to be united, when there’s so much division
So much division based on religion
Based on our culture, our sex, and our pigment
Oh America, how could you be so selfish and ignorant?
To allow a man of this nature, guide us with ignorance
On a path to destruction, I pray for deliverance
For the colored, for the poor, for the Muslim and immigrant
Oh America, Oh America, you have shown your colors
How many years in your country will my people suffer?
I shed tears for my brothers, my sisters and mothers
The words that you utter have exploited your cover
You America, have proven racism still exists
The leaders of your nation consist of white supremacists
There are those who follow them and those who are against
A war within your people, your country’s at risk
I fear for you America, but I pray that I am wrong
Sincerely, yours truly, I—– S—–.

The story of freedom always was a work of art
A picture perfect dream that melted my heart,
We defeated the odds
We as a nation seen our first black president
In the land of the free, and I’m proud to be a resident
Everlasting victory, we made classic history
But as of Nov. 2016 we are now back in misery
Man, I ask God to turn this demonic night back to day
open our eyes and see things His way
We all are blinded by our own desires
And the hate is spreading burning like wildfires
Is this the ugly future we want our kids to face
Grow up and be mistreated, because of their race
This is a disgrace, we all should be ashamed
Democrats, and Republicans we all are the blame
This campaign was the spark to the flame
I hope this poem becomes the reader novocaine
It’s time to wake up before it’s too late to make up
Hate to see my country so divided, one track minded
selfish, secluded, and confined.
Without compassion, and empathy as our sight
We will remain channeled, static and black and white
America the great, a beautiful democracy
has flip to hate and hypocrisy
One Election set off the detection
of constant oppression, race neglection
Religion rejection, to separation
immigration, kids scared of deportation
Damn, we all need reflection, a lil’ god meditation
Because prayer is the only medication
to the hurtful situation
God bless America

I HAVE A DREAM . . .
that the people of the world will reign supreme
above the clutches of racism and oppression
Those who can’t relate to our struggle
misunderstand our aggression . . .
Politics incorporated money as a part of our blessings
So now I’m stressing, due to a lack of blessings
Looking at my affiliates sideways because 1 or 2 of their loyalty’s in question . . .

Power to the people
Who’ve stood in the trenches, and demanded the right to be treated equal.
That was my grandparents’ story
Now the government is trying their best to manipulate the sequel
Power to the person(s)
Who’ve obtained, what needed to be obtained
in order for them to gain, what needed to be gained
Slavery was abolished, so they forced us into chain gangs
Jim Crow was put to pasture, so they built a lot more prisons
Drugs and alcohol was pumped into our communities
so they can manipulate and cloud our visions
Gangsta rap and movies was produced
to manipulate our decisions
Slavery was justified by religion
That’s why we go HAM, for what we believe in
Because I am what I am, and that’s not what they programmed me to be
So when I look into a mirror, all I see is me . . .
Unafraid to face myself . . . no I’m not a sell-out, so no, I don’t hate myself . . .
I live by a high standard, so it’s hard for me to rate myself . . .
The sky isn’t MY limit
For my horizon isn’t burdened by the power of restriction

Kids starving, momma nodding and pops foreign
These are the broken homes that most of us were born in
No food, no heat, and no water
This here is poverty, where life expectancy is much shorter

No shoes, holey clothes, and runny noses
In a place where praying is unheard of and who is Moses?
Prostitutes, drug dealers and cold killers
Doing errands for them so I could eat is all I remember

Birthdays was the worst days
We had to steal out of stores when we was thirsty
They say that there ain’t no love for the wicked
But don’t judge us, life chose us—we didn’t pick it

Surrounded by steel gates, none of them pickets
It’s like we were raised for jail, I don’t get it
Kids getting used, molested, and abused
Wearing long sleeves to school to hide the bruise

“M.O.B.,” a lot of dudes say; they live by the rules
And the young girls think it’s cute, but they are so confused
But I love where I’m from—don’t get it misconstrued
Even back when my lil bro was crying from hunger
And I ain’t know what to do

A couple of years later and it still draws emotions from you
And it’s still taking our young men to jail by the bundles
I’m a proud survivor of our world that we call the jungle
And even when I get old and rich, I’ll always remember “da struggle”

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Free Minds Book Club & Writing Workshop

Free Minds uses books, creative writing, and peer support to awaken DC youth incarcerated as adults to their own potential. Through creative expression, job readiness training, and violence prevention outreach, these young poets achieve their education and career goals, and become powerful voices for change in the community.

Winner of the 2015 Aspen Ideas Award from the Aspen Institute, the Justice Potter Stewart Award from the Council for Court Excellence, and the Library of Congress Best Practices in Literacy Award.

United Way of the National Capital Area (UWNCA) #9633
Combined Federal Campaign (CFC) # 75998